


Bad Guy

by DarkxKirlia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apparently this is a song fic now, Break Up AU, Excessive use of the word fuck, F/M, Hermione goes back in time, Hermione has a knowledge kink, I don't know what happened tbh, I'm bad at naming things, It just happened, It wasn't inspired by them, Lots of it, One Shot, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, Tom Riddle being Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle seduces Hermione with knowledge, almost, author goes on a rant, now with a part 2, this is almost crack, this was supposed to be angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkxKirlia/pseuds/DarkxKirlia
Summary: Hermione keeps trying to break things off with Tom.It's not going well.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 72
Kudos: 525
Collections: Tomione Smut Fest 2020





	1. Hermione hates evil, but also why is evil so sexy? (Asking for a friend)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [TomioneSmutFest20](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TomioneSmutFest20) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Break Up Sex
> 
> AN: This...was not what I set out to write, but I can't say I'm wholly disappointed. This fic was supposed to be angsty, and then I sat down and it...it wasn't. So please enjoy this non-angsty, smutty, almost crackfic. (Sort of.) I hope I did okay for my first Tomione fest.

It occurred to Hermione that he was doing it on purpose. He had a habit of being incredibly intuitive, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d used legilimency on her. 

Prick. 

Hermione sighed, propping her chin up on her palm and staring at Professor Binns boredly. He was as dull of a teacher alive as he was dead it turns out. It didn’t help that Hermione had heard all of this before. She didn’t even bother taking notes in his class. 

Her eyes flickered over to Tom. He sat prim and proper, surrounded by the Slytherins who worshipped the ground he walked on. She was fairly certain if Tom asked them to lick his shoes clean they would. That was, in hindsight, likely Hermione’s first mistake. Ever since Lockhart, Hermione had been almost entirely unaffected by pretty faces and charming smiles. Of course, she should have realized that he would have taken her indifference as a challenge. 

One who is used to worship from his peers likely does not take apathy too kindly. 

It didn’t take Tom long to discover that while she is immune to his good looks, (or at least mostly immune. It was rather difficult to be immune to someone that pretty. Honestly, it kind of pissed her off.) she is not immune to intelligence. 

And intelligence was something Tom Riddle had in spare. 

The first time he had managed to get her in his bed, he charmed her with a riveting debate on the differences between arithmancy and divination. He agreed with her that arithmancy was a more exact science, but disagreed that divination was useless. She would’ve been happy just arguing with him all night, but then he brought up using arithmancy as a source of accurate fortune-telling. He then showed her a piece of parchment in which he’d run the calculations of getting Hermione into his bed that night, and the numbers were just unfair. At that point she was already all hot and bothered, and who was she to defy the scientifically proven power of arithmancy as an art of fortune-telling? 

So they fucked. 

And Hermione told herself it would be the only time. 

Then he approached her in the library about combining runes and potions in order to create potent ritualistic magical energy. And then he cornered her after defense and proposed the idea of bottled happiness as a way to fight off dementors. While she had been in the process of telling him why they should no longer sleep together, (She’d made a list. It was very thorough.) he whispered into her ear about his theories surrounding the making of the philosophers stone. It was so clever and smart and…

And she may have shoved him into a broom closet and sucked his cock. 

Ugh. 

That is always what happened whenever she tried to break things off. About a month ago, their illicit sexual relations had somehow evolved into a full-blown romantic relationship. She knew Tom was behind it. He’d spread rumors around school that were so convincing no one believed her when she told them they weren’t together. 

And whenever she approached Tom about breaking up, he pulled her into a discussion on some obscure, brilliant magical theory that instantly made her panties wet. 

This was not what she came back in time to do. 

She glared at Tom’s perfect head. His hair was always pristine, smoothed back and silky, while hers was the mess it had always been. The only time she ever saw it mussed was when they were in bed and she couldn’t help the impulse to destroy his perfect model student image, if only for the time being. How did he go from actual angelic being to Mr. Scaly with no nose? 

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, her eyes narrowed on Tom. She had to break things off. She was, quite literally, sleeping with her enemy. Ron and Harry would never let her live it down. If she ever managed to make her way back to the future, that is. 

The bell signaling the end of class rang, and Hermione darted up and out of her seat. She was the first person out of the room, her quick steps, and scowl a sign to everyone to not get in her way. Everyone, Slytherin, and other houses alike, all stepped out of her way like she was a rampaging bull. 

All except Abraxas Malfoy. 

The downside to the evilest, most villainous person in school being your boyfriend? 

You were never going to be scarier than him. It didn’t matter that she’d nearly made Malfoy piss his pants the second week of her arrival here. (He called her a hussy for wearing trousers and a marginally low cut blouse. She kneed him in the stomach and hexed him so bees chased him around.) Tom would always be more frightening. Thus, neither of them were saved from interacting. 

“Riddle had to stay after class, but he wanted you to meet him at the astronomy tower tonight at Midnight.” Midnight? Hermione frowned. That was after curfew. And though Tom was prone to do as he wanted, he didn’t make a habit of breaking school rules unless necessary. He didn’t want to ruin his perfect image. 

Hermione nodded. “Fine,” She relented, if only out of curiosity. She had to meet up with Tom to break up with him anyway. Why not tonight? 

~

Goddammit.

Why did he have to be so perfect?

Has he planned for everything?

Hermione walked into the Astronomy tower two minutes before Midnight, intent on being brisk and direct about breaking up. Then, she was going to stun him and make a fucking run for it before he decided that torturing her sounded more fun than fucking her. 

It would’ve worked too if Tom Riddle wasn’t the most prepared prick on the planet. 

He smiled that arrogant, charming smile at her before she could manage to open her mouth. He took her hand, pressed a kiss against the back of it, and led her over to the large open wall. An antique, brass telescope stood waiting, already pointed at the Night Sky. 

“Mars is in opposition tonight. The closest to Earth it will be all year,” Hermione almost quipped back that she’s not an idiot, she knows what opposition means, but then Tom took a step closer until she could feel his warm breath on her face. He smelled of cedar, parchment, and a distinct potion that she couldn’t pinpoint at the moment. Likely something he’d brewed up in potions today. 

“I’ve been researching centaurian astronomy lately,” He murmured, bringing his hand up and trailing it lightly across the bare skin of her arm. Gooseflesh popped up wherever he touched, and she saw the small quirk of his lips that meant he was amused. His hand stopped on her wrist, thumb rubbing circles onto her inner wrist over her pulse point. “Apparently, the herds spend all night in various states of ecstasy. That, or bloodshed,” His smirk crawled further up his perfect mouth. He looked down at Hermione, eyes smoldering and dark. 

Hermione gulped. “To appease Mars?” She asked hoarsely. 

“Hm,” He hummed in agreement. His hand moved from her wrist to the small of her back. He pressed into her skin, massaging as he pulled her body up against his. His warmth seeped into her clothes, his body lining up with hers in such a way that he fit every crevice. “Mars is said to be a fickle celestial body,” Tom’s hand lowered down to grip her arse, hand roughly gripping one cheek in hand. He continued to stare into her eyes, holding her enraptured attention. “Centaurian legend says that if one appeases Mars at opposition, he will grant them his power all year long,” 

Hermione swallowed heavily, wetting her lips. “I’ve never heard of this legend,” She retorted hotly. Tom’s hand reached up her skirt and pressed two fingers over her panties into her cunt. Hermione jumped, pushing her chest into his and moaning. “Fuck,” She whispered lowly, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Tom rubbed his fingers over her, brushing over her clit for the briefest of seconds before moving back, sending brief zaps of pleasure up into her core. She pressed down into his fingers, a small plea leaving her lips. 

His lips pressed against her ear. “One must work very hard to appease a God of War,” He murmured, teeth nipping at her earlobe. “But I’ve read that the benefits are... extraordinary.” He pushed her panties to the side and sheathed two fingers up into her tight wet cunt. 

Hermione tried to grasp at logic. It never seemed to escape her except in moments like these with Tom. How could he talk to her so cleverly, and make her mind go so fuzzy? “Please,” She whined, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him closer. He was half-hard, pressed harshly against her front. He ground into her, hissing pleasurably. He drove his fingers into her harder, spearing them inside of her. 

“Shall we please Mars tonight, Hermione?” He whispered hotly. “Let’s show him just how fucking beautiful you are when you cum. How sexy you are when I make you beg for it.” he panted into her ear, and then pulled back suddenly. Hermione whined, protesting immediately, but he spun her around, pressing her back against his front and exposing her body to the night sky. He’d somehow taken off her skirt and underwear without her noticing. 

He pressed his fingers back into her cunt, her juices squelching, running down her legs. Her chest pounded, her arse pushing back to rub against his cock. “Tom, fuck, please!” Tom chuckled heatedly, his chest heaving as hard as hers. With one hand he tore the buttons down her shirt and ripped her bra down to expose her breasts. The cold night air made her nipples pebble instantly. He reached up to pinch one, pain mingling with pleasure. 

“How many times do you think you can cum in a night?” He added another finger to her heat, fucking her with them roughly. Hermione could barely think, barely even hear what he was saying only that she wanted it, fuck she wanted it… “Let’s find out.”

~

Hermione sat down at the Slytherin table the next morning, scowling openly as she reached for a scone and some jam. Tom sat a few feet down on the opposite side of the table, engrossed in a book, as usual. Normally, Hermione might be doing the same. Not this morning. Not after he’d kept her up all night. 

Her back ached. Her pussy throbbed. And she had bruises in the shape of Tom’s hands on her thighs. 

Oh, and 12. That was the number of times Tom was able to make her cum last night. She knew, because he kept count, and seemed rather disappointed with the number as if it were a blip on his otherwise perfect record. 

Merlin, he really was a prick. A talented prick though. Hermione snuck a glance over at him, glaring at his studious perfection; he hadn’t even greeted her when she walked in this morning, even though it was only a few hours ago he’d pushed her up against the wall of the astronomy tower and fucked her from behind. 

No, he acted like he didn’t even notice her. He went from hot to cold so fast it had given her whiplash more than once. 

Not that it mattered. 

She really needed to break things off between them. 

Tomorrow. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Tom had planned an outing with her. A ‘date’ as it were. To keep up his image of the perfect boyfriend no doubt. They were going to Madam Puddifoot’s. (a decision that Hermione had not made.) It would be public, so he couldn’t put the moves on her. She could break things off then. 

~

To her great shame, she should have seen this coming. Really, it was completely illogical that she hadn’t thought of this. 

Table cloths. 

Fucking. Table cloths. 

He really did plan for everything. 

The second Hermione had seen them, she knew his plan. Of course he wouldn’t take her somewhere so public she could break up with him safely and without being seduced. She tried to steer him out of there. Took his arm, put on her most vapid expression (She should’ve known that wouldn’t work either; she’d debated the historical significance of ancient runes with this man.) and claimed she was actually really very thirsty for some butterbeer and they should go to the Three Broomsticks instead. 

It was at that moment Madam Puddifoot, a much younger version than the one in Hermione’s time, poked into their conversation. 

“Oh, we have Butterbeer! Rosmerta and I made a deal where she would supply me with some and I’d supply her with my special sugar Wine,” She chirped happily. Tom glanced down at Hermione and raised a brow, an amused expression on his features. His eyes stared into hers as if to ask ‘any other clever ideas or will you just give in now?’ 

Hermione plopped down in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. Tom slid into the spot across from her. Without waiting, he ordered the tea that Hermione most liked, and a selection of sandwiches and cakes. The moment Madam Puddifoot walked away, Hermione turned her glare on Tom. 

“I’m not fucking you in public,” She stated resolutely. She sounded much more firm than she was on the inside. Honestly, after Tom somehow convinced her to have sex in Dippet’s office, (Don’t ask) there weren’t many places that she worried about doing it. No, it was less about the place and much more about the fact that he was her greatest enemy who she would most certainly be killing in the very distant future. 

Tom looked down, but couldn’t hide the smirk that curled up his deliciously plump mouth. Madam Puddifoot returned with the tea, and Tom got to work on pouring both of them a cup. He made up hers first (exactly as she liked it.) and then made his. As he brought the cup to his lips, he began to speak. 

“Who said anything about fucking in public?” He asked calmly. His sly eyes met hers, dancing with mischief. “What a dirty mind. Do you really have such vulgar fantasies, my dear?” 

Hermione, for her part, was not amused. She narrowed her eyes on him, bringing the cup of tea up to her lips slowly. “For your dignity, we won’t bring up vulgar fantasies,” She retorted. Madam Puddifoot returned with the tower of sandwiches and cakes, placing it down between them. 

“Please enjoy, lovebirds!” She sang and skipped right off with a cheery smile. Hermione watched Tom carefully, waiting for him to make his move. She wouldn’t be careless this time; she’d watch and stop him before he could even begin to seduce her. 

When he only began to eat, Hermione finally gave in, and picked up a sandwich, eyeing him cautiously. 

“Oh, I invented a new spell,” Tom said casually. Hermione stopped chewing. Tom was still eating, looking completely unconcerned. “Well, it’s more like a modification of a spell.” Uh oh. This wasn’t going to go well, Hermione realized quickly. 

“Tom, I think we need to-”

“A combination and modification of three spells, actually.” He continued, ignoring her. He looked up and met her gaze. “Ventus duo, Magicus extremos, and mobilicorpus,” Fucker. Hermione held his gaze for a solid ten seconds, her lips growing increasingly more pursed as she tried to fight the temptation to engage. She could see Tom’s mouth fighting a smirk as if he knew he’d already won. 

Hermione lost it. “Why Magicus extremos?” She blurted out, leaning forward eagerly. “How does that help? What’s the wand movement and the spell name? How does it work? Mobilicorpus usually only works on others, not on oneself.” She continued question after question. Tom merely sat there, drinking his tea and eating his sandwich, meeting her gaze every so often to let her know he was listening. Hermione felt herself getting more heated. Was she really going to learn the secret spell to unaided flight? She rubbed her thighs together eagerly. 

When Hermione finally ended her tirage of questions, and Tom was finally finished with his tea, they fell into a split second silence. The two met each other’s gazes. Hermione’s chest heaved with the effort to breathe through her excitement. Tom was perfectly calm, the quirk in his lip confident and proud. 

He leaned back into his chair, arms balanced on the window sill directly behind him. The blinds were only partially open, but Hogsmeade was busy today, students walking about in groups. 

“Get under the table.” He commanded. Hermione narrowed her eyes, looking between him, the window, and the other guests. No one had heard him. 

“Tom,” She warned. He raised a brow. 

“Shall I explain to you the secret of my newest spell?” Newest, as in it wasn’t the first he’d ever created. He was holding out on her. She glared at him, but he merely started to make himself another cup of tea, ignoring her heated gaze. 

She glanced around quickly, surveying the room; Madam Puddifoot was dancing around happily, bringing out orders to customers. Everyone else was too involved in their significant other to pay attention to them. Despite that, Hermione quickly cast a notice-me-not on herself. She slid under the table. 

“You know what I want,” She heard him, muffled through the table cloth. Yes, she did. It was what she wanted too. She crawled across the small distance under the table until she sat situated between Tom’s legs. She pushed the table cloth up slightly, so she could reach the zipper of his pants. His cock hardened as she pulled it free from his underwear. She wrapped her small hand around the base and began to pump. 

“Magicus extremos is required because it takes an extreme amount of magical power and concentration to maintain flight,” He spoke casually, sounding perfectly unaffected even as he hardened in her hand. Honestly, it was kind of insulting. “You must be able to combat and control the wind, keep up the levitation spell, and keep control over your own body's movements.” Hermione ran her hand up and over his tip and then trailed back down to the base. “Thus, you must have quite a bit of magical energy stored up and readily available to you if you are to maintain the spell,” 

Hermione frowned; while she wanted to hear what he was saying, it was absolutely unacceptable that he sounded so unperturbed. She wet her lips, getting them sufficiently moist, and placed her mouth over the tip of his cock, just as she reached one hand down to cup his balls. Tom jerked, body going rigid. Hermione smiled and gave a long, torturing lick over the tip. 

One of his hands reached under the table, reaching for her hair. Hermione pulled back, and waited; while she wanted him affected, she also wanted to make him suffer a bit. After all, he did promise her the secret to his new spell. She saw his fist clench, and then slowly return above the table. 

“Mobilicorpus normally only does work on others, but this is a modification of the spell,” He began again, voice tight and controlled. Hermione returned to her spot between his legs, his thighs tightening around her and holding her in place. She gripped his cock again and took his cock into her mouth. He jolted once more, but less violently this time. She kept her hand wrapped around his base, and hollowed her cheeks, sucking him deeper into her mouth. 

“The name is-ah-” He hissed as she swirled her tongue in the way he liked. “Is Volantium and the spell is Volantus,” Tired of her slow and cruel pace, Tom reached down and did manage to grip hold of her hair this time. He pushed down on her head, shoving his cock down her throat. Hermione choked, sputtering for a moment before forcing herself to adjust. He gripped her head with both hands and began a brutal pace of pushing her head back and forth. All speaking stopped, as Hermione focused on breathing, and he on finding his release. Hermione gripped his thighs, digging her nails into his skin, trying to gain back some control. She steadied herself just as she heard him groan, his hips jerking and a moment later his seed coated her tongue, sliding down the back of her throat. 

She waited as Tom kept his fingers twisted into her mass of curls, his breath heavy as he panted lowly. A few moments later, he untangled his fingers from her hair. He tucked his dick back into his pants and zipped up his trousers. Hermione cast another notice-me-not, just to be sure, and then got out from under the table. 

Tom smirked, clearly pleased. “What do you say, Hermione? Want to go flying?”

~

She glared at him all through Charms, completely ignoring the lesson on valuable charms to use in a garden. It’s official; that fucker knows. He knows exactly what she’s trying to do, and he puts it off by being too goddamn sexy and intelligent. He plans ahead for every occasion so that she never gets a chance to even hold a serious conversation. He uses seduction and clever words to turn off her brain and activate her apparently insatiable sex drive. 

Insatiable when it came to him, at least. 

Merlin, why did the evilest man on the planet also have to be such an incredible fuck? 

It just wasn’t fair. 

But Hermione was used to things not being fair, she’d grown up that way. It wasn’t fair that she was treated differently amongst muggles because she was a witch, and it wasn’t fair that she was treated differently amongst wizards because she was a muggle-born. Life wasn’t fair. She just had to beat him at his own game. 

A smug smile curled up her lips. Well, at least she’d get one last good shag out of it. 

~

Two days later, Hermione approached Tom in the library. It was late, the library only an hour away from being closed for the night. Tom was always here at this time; it was when the fewest students were in, and he preferred not to be disturbed when he studied. He was surprised to see her; it was rare that Hermione intentionally sought him out. Rather, she’d been attempting to avoid him lately. But not this time. This time, Hermione would take control of the situation. 

He looked up at where she stood, pressing both hands against the table and leaning towards him eagerly. He was equal parts amused and annoyed; no one, not even Hermione was supposed to disturb him while he was so focused on studying. Hermione smiled innocently. 

“I’m reading,” He told her dismissively, flicking his eyes back down to his book; The powerful effects of erumpent saliva in offensive potion-making. 

“How do you feel about mind magic?” He stopped reading. He glanced up at her, holding her gaze as he closed his book and set it down. Hermione’s smile was reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. Like a siren leading its victim to the waves, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his seat, leading him towards the back of the library. She cast several charms to hide them from the librarian.

“What do you know about mind magic?” He drawled, sounding unimpressed; she knew it was a lie. He watched her with the intensity of a predator ready to pounce. 

“Cut the crap, we both know you’re a legilimens, and I’ve been working on my occlumency,” She retorted, smirking as she leaned her body up against the nearest wall. He took one single step towards her- a panther slowly trapping its prey. “I want to see if I can block you,” Before she was even finished speaking she felt him delve into her mind. 

Just what she wanted. He dove in with such enthusiasm, without looking for anything in particular, it was easy for Hermione to throw memories, images, thoughts at him. She showed him the scene of him taking her up against a bookshelf, the first time they’d ever done it in the library. She showed him fantasies, of him pinning her hands above her head and fucking her until she couldn’t speak. She let him feel just how good it felt when he was inside her, when he made her orgasm. 

It took Hermione several seconds after he’d already left her mind to realize Tom was on her. Her back ached with the force he’d pushed her up against the wall with. His hands yanked her hips against his, rubbing his erection against the front of her robes. He snarled in hunger, pushing her robes out of the way, and magicing away her uniform underneath. Hermione gasped, in pleasure, in pain, in surprise, she wasn’t quite sure. He stuck two fingers inside her, and it was a good thing she was already wet because he hadn’t prepared her at all. 

“Tom,” She keened, wrapping her legs around him and pushing her hips up into his fingers. 

“Fuck,” He cursed, adding two fingers and pumping them up inside her. “You’re so fucking hot, so fucking tight. Always so ready for me,” he growled. He gave a few more pumps of his fingers and then pulled out, hurrying to undo his trousers and pull out his cock. Without warning he pushed inside her, pulling her forward and then slamming her back into the wall with the force of his thrust. Hermione moaned, gripping the back of his head, dragging her nails down his back. 

“Yes,” Hermione gasped, “harder, please, fuck me harder,” She could feel the imprint of his fingers into her hips as he rammed into her over and over again, pressing into a spot inside of her that made her see stars. Hermione gave a yell as he drove her over the edge, the heat inside of her bursting in an inferno, making her mind go blank with nothing but pleasure. 

When she came back down from her orgasm, Tom was still pumping his cock inside her. His thrusts were more erratic, forceful, and searching, and he came with a grunt. He pressed his body fully against hers, leaning his forward against the wall by her head. His breaths came in heavy pants, his cock softening inside of her. Hermione was breathing just as heavy; sex was Tom was always this explosive, and it always took the two of them a good amount of time to recover. 

Luckily, Hermione came prepared this time. She pulled her wand subtly out of its holster on her arm and dug the tip into his thigh. Tom only had a moment to tense, before Hermione cast a stupefy that knocked him to the floor. 

“Well,” Hermione huffed, straightening her robes and pulling them around her to cover her nakedness underneath. She hated it when he made her clothes disappear. She waved her wand at his paralyzed form, straightening his clothing and making him decent. She then shoved her wand back into its holster. 

She crouched down next to Tom and smiled playfully. “As I’ve been trying to say for weeks now,” She began, petting the top of his head. “We really should break up. We’re not good for each other. The sex is amazing and the conversation is superb, but you’re a little too evil for my tastes. You understand.” His eyes screamed murder as Hermione patted him on the cheek and stood back up. She straightened her hair and gave one last smile down at Tom. “Don’t worry, the stupefy will wear off soon.”


	2. In which a psychopath is salty about being called 'evil'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom tries to get Hermione back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...you convinced me to make a second part. 
> 
> And possibly a third (but only because you may kill me for how this ends.) 
> 
> Quick disclaimer: I talk about sociopathy and psychopathy in this chapter. I felt it important since I'm a psychology major to explain that this is NOT a good representation of any mental disorders, especially ones that would fall under psychopathy. (Fun fact: really, there's no such thing as a psychopath. The DSM doesn't recognize it as an official disorder. The people who you think you're talking about when you refer to sociopaths/psychopaths would be people with antisocial personality disorder or narcissistic personality disorder. Also, I personally think Tom falls under the narcissistic personality disorder, but it depends on how you portray him.) 
> 
> However, sociopathy and psychopathy have been terms around for a very long time and from my understanding were used commonly for people with similar symptoms to Tom even by professionals back at that time. So, any information you read here about it is not accurate! 
> 
> Also, like the first this is pretty crack-ish. 
> 
> Warnings: Liberal use of the word 'fuck' and mention and use of unforgivable curses. I think that's all.

Tom riddle is a psychopath. 

Or Sociopath. 

He’s not actually sure on the semantics, but he’s pretty sure he’s one of the two. What he is certain of, is it’s not his fault. All psychology studies, journals, and books all say the same thing; his psychopathy (or sociopathy) were developed young, perhaps even before birth, and is caused by either two realities. Either it is born of biology, meaning he developed his psychopathic traits from his parents, or it is environmental and evolved due to his highly traumatic and abusive childhood. So, clearly, Tom’s lack of compassion and emotional depth are really not his fault. 

Tom doesn’t really care what caused his perceived mental illness. He doesn’t even mind that he is a psychopath. Truly, those ‘symptoms’ that define him as such have actually been rather useful in his life. When other kids in the orphanage were going hungry, he was getting double servings of slop for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Because he imperiused the cook. Whenever anyone messed with him, either as a kid or an adolescent, they were quickly and cruelly dealt with. 

Not everyone agrees with his methods, but no one can say they aren’t effective. 

And Tom’s never been rejected because of his lack of emotional depth. In fact, it only ever seemed to add to his allure. And even if it didn’t, he was very good at hiding just how dark he truly was. It had never gotten in his way before. 

And now, apparently, it’s a problem. 

Evil. Hermione Granger looked him in the eye, mocking, mousy little smile on her bruised lips, and called him evil. 

It was positively rude. 

Especially because he had just given her one hell of an orgasm. 

Tom had laid on the library floor an hour well after her stunning spell had worn off. He stared up at the darkened ceiling, ponderous and calculating. For a girl of the future, Hermione was certainly not progressive. 

Or, he thought it was the future. He’d seen the day she arrived in 1943, appearing swiftly and silently in the middle of the Hogwarts courtyard with a golden chain around her neck glinting off the sunlight. He’d never seen a girl wear the clothes she was wearing then, and he certainly didn’t think any self-respecting women of the past would wear such things. So the only logical conclusion was that she was from the future. 

Far in the future. 

He would admit, he’d been curious. And then as he got to know her, how brilliant and fascinating she was, he’d become...well, he supposed the word for it was ‘obsessed’, but he rather thought it was more like a mathematician attempting to solve the same equation for the thirtieth time. He didn’t want to be obsessed. But there was never a mystery Tom had never been able to solve before, and he didn’t know what to do with himself now that there was. 

A mystery that called him evil. 

He scowled at his bedpost, the dark oak beginning to sizzle with the beginning of a fire. Abraxas took one look at the smoke rising from his bed and snapped his book shut, bowing to Tom, and then heading for the common room before he could turn his wrath on him. Tom frowned at the door Abraxas had closed behind him. ‘That’s how they're supposed to act,’ Tom thought in confusion, ‘fear and reverence.’ 

If Abraxas or any one of his subjects had deigned to call him ‘evil,’ Tom would have laughed, and then crucio’d them for talking out of place. 

And yet the desire didn’t arise now, even after how poorly Hermione had treated him. Strange. 

Whatever the reasoning behind his sudden lack of sadistic tendencies, Hermione had broken things off with him, which was completely unacceptable. Their little game of cat and mouse was the most fun Tom had had since he opened the Chamber of Secrets. No, Hermione was his now. She was perhaps the only person he actually liked, and he wasn’t about to let her beautiful mind go to waste. 

And the sex was far too good. 

Tom needed her back under his thumb and quick. Luckily, he had just the perfect idea. 

…

Sometimes, Tom hated having another student in school nearly as smart as him. He was so used to being surrounded by idiots that he’d forgotten that people with actual intelligence still existed. 

There was never supposed to be a plan B; he’d never needed one. Plan A always worked. And yet, now Tom was on Plan D, and he was a little nervous that he might need to come up with a Plan E soon. 

It started out simple enough; legilimency headaches. She hated when Tom got into her mind, and so he made sure to do so every chance he got. He barely even paid attention to her memories, he was more focused on the consistently painful headache he intended on giving her. Potions couldn’t cure legilimency headaches, and he was sure she’d know it was him. Inevitably, she’d have to come to him if she wanted the headaches to stop. 

He’d underestimated her, he’d give her that. Most simpletons at this school would give up and come running for help. 

What did Hermione Granger do? 

Invent a pain-sharing potion. Everything he did to her, he felt. He wasn’t sure how she’d slipped him the potion, or how long it lasted. (she could still be dosing him for all he knows, though he’s taken precautions now to nip that in the bud.) Eventually, the lack of studying he was getting done was starting to become detrimental to his grades, and he was forced to come up with a different plan. 

Plan B consisted of hitting her where it hurts; the library. He borrowed (stole) Hermione’s currently checked out library books out of her obnoxiously charmed string bag and burnt them to a crisp. Hermione had no choice but to tell the snooty Librarian Mrs. Kent about the books. 

She got banned from the library for two months. All through their shared defense class the next day, Hermione glared at him, and he couldn’t keep the smirk off of his face. His fiery little minx was certain to come storming after him to tell him off. He expected it, even lingering outside the classroom afterwards for her. When she walked out, she blatantly refused to look at him, and carried on her merry way. He found out why later; the clever bitch obliviated the memory of the burned books from Mrs. Kent. He watched her do it, the subtle wave of her wand at her thigh in a room full of studying students, the silver stream of memory escaping. Mrs. Kent’s eyes went blank before widening. The ugly bint looked around the library in alarm, clearly lost and confused as to what had happened to her.

“Are you alright?” He’d heard Hermione ask, a tone of confused concern. Mrs. Kent seemed to snap out of her daze, and smiled shiningly at Hermione. 

“Of course, dear. Now, do you want to see the new books that just came in this week? They’re absolutely stunning!” 

He would’ve been furious if her callous disregard of rules and personal ethics didn’t turn him on. And she did it all just to avoid him. He rather liked that.

Regardless, he had needed a new plan. Plan C. Plan ‘see how jealous I can make Hermione before she snaps.’ For two weeks, Tom became a serial dater. But not just any girls, no, he dated the girls he knew Hermione specifically didn’t like. The ones who antagonized her, whom Hermione would’ve called dumb if it weren’t for the fact that they were actually rather intelligent Ravenclaws who were tops of their year. Pretty pureblood girls who looked down on anyone with impure blood. Except Tom. 

He made sure Hermione saw him with each and every girl, talking and laughing, kissing. He even went so far as to fuck one of them in library, in the exact same spot they’d fucked weeks before. He made sure Hermione was there to see it too. 

And the rage in her eyes had been exquisite. He’d been certain then, that’d he got her. She’d given in. He’d strutted back to the common room that night, more high off of the victory than the sex. 

“Where’s Hermione?” He asked once he arrived. Abraxas looked up from his paper. 

“Went to bed early, my lord.” He answered swiftly. Tom couldn’t help a self-satisfied smirk, and went to bed, sure that she’d accost him in the morning. 

He was accosted the next morning, but not by Hermione. 

No, he was accosted by the ravenclaw girl he’d slept with the night before in the library. She grabbed him before he could walk into the great hall, tears making rivers down her cheeks. She pulled him to the side, sobbed, and through the whining and complaining, he managed to piece the story together. 

Somehow, the girl’s father had learned of their tryst just the night before. Somehow, he’d gotten a letter off in the night and it had arrived by breakfast. The girl had gotten a letter from her father in which he called her a whore and threatened to disown her, and that now she had to marry the man she’d allowed to take her purity. 

Fuck. 

He realized then, Hermione was playing for keeps. Somehow she had become the cat in this story, and he was the unaware mouse. It didn’t seem to matter how he toyed with her, because she believed she was the one in power. And nothing he’d done so far had proved her wrong. 

Tom hated being made a fool of. It rarely ever happened, but when it did it caused an explosive wave of rage that all people in the general vicinity experienced. Tom pulled the annoying crying girl into an empty classroom, obliviated her of both the letter and their tryst, and walked into the great hall as if nothing had happened. 

He could feel Hermione’s eyes watching him like a hawk from the other side of the Slytherin table. But he wasn’t messing around anymore. It was time he started playing for keeps too. If he wanted to win, he had to take away the thing that mattered most to her. 

…

“I can’t believe you fucked with my grades!” Hermione raged in front of him, hair crackling with her anger. Tom relaxed back into the couch in the Slytherin common room, unable to stop the small beginning of a smirk forming on his lips. 

He’d give credit where credit was due, she’d held out for an entire week. A week of Tom sabotaging her wherever possible in class, from tripping her in dueling practice to sneaking ingredients into her brewing cauldron, even hexing her arithmancy essay to ruin her calculations. 

He knew that one in particular had stung. 

Hermione Granger had never received a ‘T’ in her entire life. She’d almost cried in the middle of class. 

Tom eyed her up and down, eyes trailing across her body; her cardigan was rumpled, her tie beginning to come undone, her skirt sitting higher on one side than the other. There was a speck of mud on one of her shoes. Her cheeks were red and blotchy, likely from the late brewing session she’d had with Slughorn to make up for the failed potion in class the other day. 

She was glorious. 

He did so love when she was angry. 

“You wouldn’t let me fuck you,” He drawled, eyes dancing as he watched the incredulous rage build on her face. “I had to fuck with something, I get bored easily.” Her lip curled, her fingers clenching around her wand. For a moment, he was certain she would attempt to hex him. 

Instead, she let her wand drop back down into her sleeve and she threw her hands up in the air. “Then fuck with your minions, you always love to torture them.” She sneered in retort. 

He snorted in disdain. “Their screams have gotten dull,” 

“What about Priscilla?” 

“Who?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “The Ravenclaw girl you had sex with in the library,” Oh, Tom thought in mild interest, that was her name. He hadn’t bothered to ask. 

“Perhaps I would have,” He answered slowly, watching her carefully for a reaction. The sparks had died down from her hair, but she still looked royally pissed off. “But marriage isn’t really in the cards for me.” 

The two engaged in a silent staredown, Hermione stubborn-lipped and sharp-eyed, Tom smirking, a challenge in his gaze. 

Hermione decided to pick her battles. “Are you going to stop messing with my grades?” She questioned lowly. Tom gave a lazy shrug of the shoulder. 

“Let’s get back together,”

“Are you insane?”

“Facts point towards the likely.” 

“I hate you,”

“Mm,” Tom purred, “you’ve missed me though,” 

They stared each other down once more. Hermione was pursing her lips in that stubborn way he liked so much, the one where she knew she’d lost but didn’t want to admit to it. Tom reached up, keeping steady eye contact as he began to undo his tie. He watched Hermione’s eyes dip to follow the motion, her throat gulping and her lips parting. She looked up to his eyes, and then crossed her arms and stood stubbornly in place. Tom rolled his eyes, waving his hand and thinking a spell, and Hermione’s tie undid itself, twirling around her neck and falling to the ground at her feet. 

The air became so tense it was almost hostile. A hurricane had collided with a super volcano, and the held breath between them was the tense wait for the chaos to unfold. 

Hermione reached up for her robe and began to slide it down her arms. She took a step in his direction, heated eyes trailing down his languid form. 

The door opened. 

“My lord, Lestrange has-”

Tom raised his wand faster than he ever had before, pointing it in the direction of Abraxas. “Crucio,” In the span of the seconds it took to curse Abraxas, Hermione had seemingly come out of a trance, once again glaring at Tom. Abraxas screamed in agony on the floor behind them. 

Wordlessly, Hermione cast a muffliato around the room. She reached down to grab her tie, bunching it up and sticking it in her robes pocket. A robe she was no longer taking off seductively. 

Fuck. 

“The next time you mess up one of my essays, I’ll hex you so you can’t walk straight for a week.” And then she was out the door in a dramatic exit that he’d discovered was rather common for her. 

Tom sighed and groaned in annoyance, leaning his head off the back of the couch and watching Abraxas writhe on the floor. 

“Goddammit Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hides behind hands* Don't hate me! I'm sorry! I know ya'll wanted some smutty smut but I got to the end and it just didn't feel right. Regardless I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was difficult but also a lot of fun to write! Even though I didn't write this in first pov I tried to mimic Tom's thinking patterns and wordings and I hope that showed. 
> 
> Also, more information about psychopathy/sociopathy because I think it is a vastly interesting topic. 
> 
> A common misconception is that 'psychopaths' or 'sociopaths' (People with APD or NPD) can't feel empathy or love. This is ENTIRELY false. While it is difficult for people with these disorders to feel empathy and love, it is by no means impossible. That certainly doesn't mean their love or empathy would be healthy by any means (It's actually really difficult for people with these disorders when they feel these emotions because they haven't learned how to handle those feelings.) but they CAN and DO feel it. It's just very selective. 
> 
> For example, Don Gonzales was a narcissist who was serving multiple life sentences for, well, A LOT of things. My psychology professor explained Don as having no empathy for those beneath him (or those he perceived as beneath him) but having selective empathy for those he respected. The Don was also highly charming, 'debonair', and was well-liked and respected by the prison guards. My professor referred to him as having a huge capacity to corrupt and a "cold-eyed killer." 
> 
> When I think of the differences between APD and NPD and sociopathy and psychopathy (two terms that are extremely linked and mixed up.) I kind of think of NPD as aligning more with psychopathy and APD aligning more with sociopathy. Not because of morality or anything, more because people with NPD are very much charming individuals who will put on a mask and play like their your friend, whilst people with APD tend to not care so much. They can of course, and will, manipulate people, but from what I've learned and understood, people with APD are much less likely to pull the suave, charming act, which is kind of why I associated Tom more with NPD. 
> 
> Of course, I wanted to finish up this rant by saying that while I am writing fiction, these are very real disorders that are very serious and troubling. And the part where I talk about 'environmental vs. biological' in the story is actually pretty real. Disorders like NPD and APD can and do often occur because environmental factors such as horrible abuse. My Professor (same one, cool guy) said that "Psychology cannot and does not diagnose evil, only disorders." I think the concept of evil is really interesting in that regard. People who have NPD and APD have disorders. I'm not saying that makes it okay, but I do feel a bit of sympathy for them. (not that they'd appreciate that.) You often wonder what kind of people they would've been if the circumstances that changed and affected their brains the way it did hadn't occurred. That's kind of what I think about Tom Riddle/Voldemort. He was a villain, through and through, but I felt a little bit of sympathy for him. His lack of empathy and love weren't his fault, and in that regard, he was a victim. 
> 
> Okay, I'm done ranting now. If you're still here, I'm sorry you had to read that. I just couldn't put this chapter without going on a rant about it. If you liked this chapter, please let me know in the comments, I love to hear from you! And if you have constructive criticism, I'd love to hear that too. And if you would like a concluding third chapter, let me know, and maybe you can persuade me into that too.


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